


To Find His Way Back

by Claytonator



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Instability, The ship is only there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claytonator/pseuds/Claytonator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Winter Soldier saves Captain America's life, he has nowhere to go. He is lost, and confused. He starts searching for who he used to be, not even sure if that man exists anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Find His Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this just after seeing Captain America: The Winter Soldier, when I was still overly emotional about Bucky. I don't read the comics, I don't know the geography of New York or where Bucky and Steve end up after falling out of the sky, I just needed something which followed Bucky from there to the post-credit scene and beyond. 
> 
> Beta-ed by the wonderful acityofravens on Tumblr. Lex, you are fantastic and I'm sorry it took me this long to come up with a title. 
> 
> No profit is made from this work.

_(Some days he wakes up screaming, hand clawing at his shoulder, at the hunk of metal he has for an arm, where it's attached with ugly scars, desperate to rip it off.)_

_(Some days he wakes up and just sits for hours, awaiting orders that never arrive.)_

_(Some days he knows he has a name. He knows he has a name and that everybody has a name, and he shouts in anger when he can't quite remember it, the very idea of a name slipping through his fingers like smoke before he can capture it, examine it, learn it.)_

***

After he pulls Captain America out of the water and checks he's breathing, he disappears. He vanishes into the woodland without a trace, and hides there for weeks. He has no commanders to return to now, he knows that. He has no mission either - letting the Captain live had kind of screwed that up. He is left with nothing to do but think. And walk. He does an awful lot of walking those weeks. Always staying behind the treeline, climbing every so often to get a vantage point for hunting and finding a source of water, he walks the circumference of that island so many damn times, until something starts to make sense.

It makes his brain ache to consider the possibility that he was a different person to the one he thought he was. He wishes he could ignore the entire concept, and just return to another HYDRA base to receive a new mission. But the idea Captain America gave him is so pervasive, he just can't get it out of his head. It's like an infection, the way the uncertainty creeps through his mind, plaguing his thoughts.

His nights are filled with nightmares, memories which haunt him, cutting deep into the very core of himself. He doesn't remember ever having a dream before. The cryo-tube made sure of that. He has no way of protecting himself against the onslaught of violent images which torment him when he lays down on the ground to sleep. 

***

_Some days he wakes up screaming, hand clawing at his shoulder, at the hunk of metal he has for an arm, where it's attached with ugly scars, desperate to rip it off._

Those first weeks are filled with exhaustion and anger, the Winter Soldier awakening in a rage, but with no target to direct it at, so he sends it back onto himself. He takes a Chinese ring dagger out from his belt, examining the blade in the sunlight. He grips it in his left hand, metal scraping against metal. He wonders if he can cleanse himself of the images he sees in his nightmares by letting them flow out of wounds. He presses the blade against his forearm, pushing it into his skin until it starts to sting.

But he can't make himself push down any further.

His programming takes over his arm, removing the knife, sending it flying towards a tree trunk instead. He is not a useful asset if he is injured.

He wrestles against his mind, fighting against those intrusive thoughts, rallying back against them, trying desperately to break free of their control, and finds himself frozen in indecision. He is not brave enough to break those commands, no longer strong enough to follow them thoughtlessly.

 _I am broken._  

He ends up crouched among the tree trunks, choking back the tears he doesn’t want to cry.

***

_Some days he wakes up and just sits for hours, awaiting orders that never arrive._

He jolts out of his reverie when he realises what he's doing, but even then he doesn't know what to do with himself and he wonders if maybe he was better off letting himself believe that orders would be coming to him. That way he wouldn't have to fill the empty space in his head himself, try to cover up the conflicting thoughts enough so that he can just function.

***

_Some days he knows he has a name. He knows he has a name and that everybody has a name, and he shouts in anger when he can't quite remember it, the very idea of a name slipping through his fingers like smoke before he can capture it, examine it, learn it._

It's one of these days that he decides to go to the Smithsonian. He makes himself swim across to the mainland, all the while the cold water trying to cramp his tired muscles, make him give up and turn back, but he doesn't know how long this clarity will last and he needs to take advantage of it while he can.

He knows he stands out in the Smithsonian, hunched over in a hoodie he stole from someone on the street. He hides the silver of his hand by keeping it shoved in his pocket. He doesn't quite know how long he spends there, staring at the film clips of a man who looks just like him. The concept of a man he can't quite remember, a name that doesn't quite fit. He has a name, he tells himself, but he's no longer sure he is worthy of the name the Captain gave him.

He takes home a pamphlet with their faces on it, a reminder for when he can't remember himself.

***

_Some days he spends constantly checking his surroundings and he only walks with his arms in front of him, ready to fight, knife clutched in his left hand. He can’t make himself stop._

He spends most of the day with his back pressed firmly against a tree, praying to God that the fear will pass. He tries to push the fear aside, work through it, but even carving a line into his skin with his knife doesn't help. The pain doesn't help him find his clarity, and the blood only sets off another wave of panic. He wishes he could drop his knife, get rid of his trademark tool, but the voice in the back of his head won't let him.

He realises, as he lays down to sleep, knife still tight in his grasp, that he'd prayed without remembering there was a God to pray to.

***

He makes examining the Smithsonian pamphlet a daily ritual, sleeping with it folded up in his hand so he's forced to look at it every time he wakes, no matter who he is that day. He starts to remember the faces from day to day, and their familiarity grounds him when he feels like he's not even real. After all, if he isn't the Winter Soldier, and he isn't Bucky Barnes, who is he? Maybe Captain America - Steve, he corrects himself - can tell him.

***

Most days he wakes up as this new hybrid of not-quite-Bucky and not-quite-asset. He hears the commands echo in his head, in the blank spaces where memories are hidden from view. He tries to push them away, but he knows he is weak, he knows he cannot escape them, not truly. He thinks that maybe Bucky would have been brave enough to stop listening to them though. He likes the kind look Bucky has on the pamphlet. He tries to be like him, and make his own decisions, independent of the voices in his head.

He finds himself standing outside Steve's front door. He hadn't really known that was where he was going until he ended up there. He hasn't approached it from this side before, just lined up his shots from the windows, the sights of his sniper rifle aimed at Nick Fury. He stands outside the door, not knowing if he should knock. He finds himself stuck in indecision again. He thinks Bucky would let himself in, but he is not really Bucky, not yet, and the Winter Soldier wouldn't even be here, so where does that leave him?

He is found by Steve, hours later, pacing up and down the hallway. He is so focussed on the memory of the previous night's dreams that he never hears Steve approach, and he berates himself for letting his guard down. He no longer wears his mask, but his hood is pulled up over his head, shade falling over his eyes, and he feels safer hiding there as Steve opens up his door to let him in.

***

Some days he wakes up and holds a knife to Steve's throat, on the verge of slicing him open and watching him bleed out in bed. Steve wakes to the cold metal pressing into his flesh and forces himself to stay calm so he can order him down. The entire day is spent convincing Bucky he isn't the Winter Soldier, he never has to be that person again. He shuts himself into the guest bedroom and cries it out, but Steve comes in and holds him tight, knowing he needs something to ground him.

Some days he wakes up and knows he is Bucky, but nothing more. He wakes up and tries to swallow down his panic, and after the first few times Steve realises why Bucky is so scared. He doesn't remember anything else about who he is and he's lost in freefall, lost and alone.

Some days he wakes up and tries to pull his arm off. He can remember the terrible, terrible things he has used it for and just wants it gone. Steve stops him from damaging it with the hammer he had been using to attack it and finds a screwdriver to remove it for the day. He hides it so Bucky doesn't have to look at it and remember what he did.

***

Some days Bucky wakes up and knows he can make it. He's made it this far. He can make it a bit further. He'll find his way back to himself.

He will.

 

 


End file.
